


Home Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [5]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Character, Lolita Jared, M/M, Older Jensen, Past Relationship(s), Prom, Secret Relationship, Teacher Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has second thoughts. And third ones. Fourths. Fifths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Full Of Sugar

 

There’s only so much room a bachelor can take up all on his own. What does he need? A closet for too many iron-needy button-downs, suit jackets. A neat hanging system for his cap collection. No sneaker collection, so no need for a fancy display for those. The guitar sits next to the bed. It lived next to the couch, in the living room, but when it got too much of a distraction from the work Jensen had brought home, his baby had to move.

The garden needs work but is tolerable, enough for an occasional barbecue. Kitchen – not much to say; functional. Basement and attic – as if Jensen needed any extra for hoarding. He’s more of the minimalistic type.

But what really always had annoyed him was the guestroom. Two bedrooms, sure, okay, if you married and stuff, but... A _guestroom_? Too small for much but a bed, really. The price and little distance to work had made Jensen buy the property in spite of the bitterness about paying for extra space he doesn’t need. What a waste.

It hits him while his current class (not the one with Jared in it) is taking a test. Jensen has had a headache for two days straight despite an entire pack of aspirin and maybe it’s the pain speaking, pushing odd buttons in his head. All he knows is he makes an obligatory glance around the room to catch cheaters, and some girl (Jensen could neither name her nor the vague position she was sitting in) is wearing something that reminds him of Jared Tristan (so probably something floral, pink) and that’s when said buttons and levers are pushed and turned – and suddenly, Jensen knows exactly what to do with the guestroom.

~

Sometimes it’s hard to say if Jared is about to either cry or smile. It usually ends somewhere in between and the tears are gone again rather quickly once the intensity of emotion ebbed off. Nevertheless, it never fails to get to Jensen.

Jared’s eyes are glued to the little bottle on the coffee table. Jensen watches the addition of wetness, the small flutter of eyelashes. He swears he can hear Jared gasping.

“I thought…” And Jensen says this very softly, very gently, because it’s consecrated to make gifts to this kid, because Jensen could give him something as meaningless as a rubber band and Jared would build an altar for it (most certainly). When it’s something Jensen put thought into (and he _did_ ), bought it customized for nobody but his kitten, then it deserves this extra celebration. “… if we put it on your toes, you can leave it on. You’d have to wear socks around everyone else then, though.”

Jared nods blindly. He is still fixed on the nail polish. How often he must have glanced at something like this, maybe an even prettier one (Jensen went with pastel pink; that never gets old with his kitten), wishing to be just as carefree as his girlfriends or sister and put it on himself. Jensen bought nail polish remover, too. He _needs_ to see what it does to Jared to paint his fingernails.

“Thank you.” Jared chokes on the last syllable and clears his throat, pushes a faint laugh right behind. A back of a hand goes for his eyes, rubs once, and no liquid seems to come away. Good. No tears. Jared now turns to Jensen and judging by that expression, Jensen just made his day. “Thank you, really. It’s such a pretty color.”

Jensen watches the kid picking up the tiny bottle with fragile fingers, as if the item could combust if he handled it with too little care. The polish is inspected up close. A new toy to play with. “Gimme your foot,” is all Jensen has to say and his kitten turns, raises her leg to put her socked foot in Jensen’s waiting hands, still struck by the object in her fingers. Jensen peels a cream colored sock from a summer-brown foot, spotless and smooth like the entire kid. Jensen is grateful for Jared’s fascination with the bottle. This way, he doesn’t have to possibly notice the sick twist going through Jensen from undressing his jailbait visitor (doesn’t matter how small the naked part; it is what it is, you monster).

Two pairs of eyes watch with breathless fascination how a small brush executes the defloration of Jared Tristan’s nails. A dozen compliments are already on Jensen’s tongue before even finishing the first set of toes – how perfectly the color goes with Jared’s skin tone, how it changes the entire look of Jared’s feet, can’t you see, baby, how pretty you are? – but their game goes otherwise. It’s much more quiet. A ceremony.

Jensen dips the brush into pink, applies more. A last glance and it’s, “There you go,” a small nod (because that’s all it takes) for the other foot and Jared gives him that one, too. Lets Jensen undress that one, too. A pair of wriggly little feet in Jensen’s lap and Jensen hides his devotion behind a drunken smile.

When Jared looks down, it seems like his lashes are endless. Jensen fantasizes about getting more make-up. Has a lipstick hidden somewhere, too, but he wanted to see how Jared would take in the nail polish first. How _Jensen_ would take in Jared taking in the nail polish, that is.

Now they both have their eyes on Jared’s perfect ten toes, long and slim like his fingers, feet so meatless that every move makes the bones dance underneath his skin. Free for everyone to watch who cares to spend a glance. Jensen smiles sheepishly, gives eye contact Jared doesn’t reciprocate because he doesn’t need to and asks, “What do you say? Did I do good?”

Kitten smiles at her pink toes and hums, “Yeah,” while nodding her head.

“Now don’t move too much or it’ll get everywhere,” Jensen advises.

He gets a devout nod for that, again. Jensen cradles the balls of his kitten’s feet and kitten pretends not to be highly aware of said hands slowly sliding up her calves. Those eyes are still on her toes but Jensen notices the little things. Things like the wet blinking of lashes, of a little twitch of a fanned-wide hand.

Jensen thinks that once the nail polish has dried, he would like to kiss each and every single one of Jared’s toes. Another part offers the idea of sucking them into his mouth instead. Almost look like candy now, don’t they? Very darling. Jensen cannot recall ever having as much as noticed any sort of product on any woman’s nails.

“Are you gonna go to the school dance, Mr. Ackles?”

Jensen looks up at that, dives up from mile-deep filth to watch his kitten all pretend-passingly, lashes still lowered, apples of cheeks now nearing the new color of her toes.

“Yeah, actually,” he begins, keeps watching closely for reactions. “I’m part of the party pooper troop.” Jensen smirks for the sake of own memories. “Y’know – us old farts watchin’ you young folks, keepin’ you from sneaking booze into the punch ‘n stuff.” Barely a smile for that. Hm. “What about you? Are you goin’?”

“Guess so.” Jared sighs the words. Shrug of bony shoulders.

Jensen’s hands have now reached beyond Jared’s knees. “Someone’s not so much of a dancer, huh?”

Jared’s thigh flinches under his forefinger, and Jensen licks his lips. Then, Jared’s face changes, twists, and brows furrow deeply. “No,” he mutters. “I hate it.”

Maybe a brighter smile will help easing the negativity. Yeah. Smile. Give a little laugh, too. Keep petting his legs. Yeah. Like that. He likes that. “C’mon, I’m sure you’re not that bad.”

Jared’s shoulders roll inward, pull towards his ears. Jared is now staring at some unidentifiable spot on the carpet, and Jensen stops his hands immediately. Too much.

“Mom got me a suit,” Jared murmurs.

“Uhm,” Jensen offers. After some consideration, he adds, “Oh,” and feels godforsakenly stupid.

He points Jared to the bathroom where something new and frilly is laid out for him. Jared takes the bait, luckily. The great escape.

Jensen decides on pillow cases while he waits.

~

Jannet still loves her new boyfriend (whom Jensen, after three years, has yet to meet) and Jason still makes the best jokes. Hank and Suzie are pregnant with their second and left their first with the grandparents. When they toast with beer, Jensen announces that he is grateful for having friends like them, that it’s good seeing them again, thanks for coming.

“Are you still pissed over Danni or did things lighten up a bit?” Jason always knows how to break the ice. Not very elegantly, but it does the job.

All eyes are on Jensen as he cringes in his seat, holds on to his beer. “It’s, uh. I mean, sure, it’s been tough. But… it’s been almost a _year_ , guys. C’mon.” He offers what they hopefully will accept as a wicked smile. “I’m good.”

Of course he isn’t, and they all know it. A break-up is one thing, returning a declined ring is another.

But they’re polite. They’re his friends. They’re here, spending this weekend with him at his still new house, and he couldn’t ask for a better present. The first visitors since he moved here if you don’t consider his parents coming over once and Jared way too often.

It’s lonely in this town. He has three or four nice colleagues, sure, but all of them are desperate small town girls who would get way too involved over something like a simple dinner or movie – making friends is not an option. Jensen doesn’t want to marry or start a new relationship whatsoever. At least not now, not with anybody he knows. (Jared Tristan is a matter of his own and to be measured in an entire other galaxy’s standards.)

Jannet wants to know if he is seeing anyone and Jensen hesitates shortly enough for his, “No,” to be accepted. (A matter of his own. Entire other galaxy’s.) Jensen doesn’t like to lie.

It will be Hank who will notice the locked door and Suzie who will make an inappropriate joke about “Jenny’s leather collection” and Jensen will pull a face and wish it was that easy to explain.

~

“How was your weekend?”

Hungry for his attention, kitten is fumbling with her still-painted toes through the sheer black of her stockings. She’s wearing a pale turquoise dress whose straps trip off her shoulder every few minutes. Her eyelids are sparkling because she painted them like that.

Jensen turns another page from the pile he has to go through due next Monday (“Why Shakespeare is still relevant today, three hundred words, and yes, Michael, I _will_ count ‘em.”) and murmurs a short, “Good. And yours?”

“It was okay,” she says.

“Hm,” replies Jensen.

Silence.

Jensen doesn’t _mean_ to be cruel. He is though, sometimes, and he’s well aware of it. That’s how he’s always been. His not-so-sexy side. Well, not everything is full of sugar 24/7.

“Did you have fun with your friends?” Kitten tries hard. “What did you guys do?”

“We had a barbecue and basically yakked all day long. And we finished…” He looks up to stare at the ceiling as if it would give him the answer. “Two. Yeah, two cases of beer.”

“Sounds nice,” supplies kitten. Inches closer to Jensen.

Jensen’s skin crawls.

“Uhm,” he starts. Not easy. Not fun. But... “Look, I don’t know if… if today was such a great idea.” He turns to face her but looks at a spot right next to her ear. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s better if you leave.”

 _Mr. Cold Blooded_. Danni called him that. She had picked it up from his ex.

Jared crumbles so obviously, even though he tries to (futilely) hide it. “Oh,” he says. Sad, surprised. Then, after Jensen finds himself unable to face away, Jared begins to pluck on the frills at the hem of his dress. “Did I… did I do something wrong, Mr. Ackles?”

Jensen answers his “No,” immediately. Which is a lie. Of course Jared did _something_ wrong – falling in love with Jensen, stalking him, seducing him. Making him spend too much money, making him worry way too much. Making him question his sexual sanity, his morals, fucking _salvation_. But that’s something different. “Maybe I’m just tired,” Jensen helps.

“You could take a nap,” Jared tries, voice slightly raised with his hopes. “I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t bother you. I’d be completely quiet.”

If he could play his stupid dress up games at home, he wouldn’t cling to this place half as desperately, Jensen thinks.

“No,” he has to repeat. “I think it’s really better if you left now.”

Jared doesn’t move except for his restless fingers. Jensen is looking down at them now. Blank nails, almost taunting – didn’t you want to _eat_ us a few days ago?

Jensen feels sick.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ackles.”

Jensen’s gaze shifts to the sofa cushions.

“I’m sorry that I’m not…… That you can’t…”

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Jensen promises. He means it, even though Jared doesn’t seem to buy it.

It’s true though. Jensen shouldn’t have started this. Shouldn’t have accepted Jared’s puppy love. Should have said no, thank you, and should have kept it in his goddamn pants.

If one of his friends would do what he is doing, he would report them to the police and get them locked up without spending another thought. It would be appropriate. It would be _right_.

Jensen is none of these things.

~

Because he can’t sleep and because all images flashing in front of his eyes once he wants to start to jerk off eventually switch into something he doesn’t want to think about, Jensen drags himself through his house. Has some tea (bought it for Jared). Nibbles on a refrigerated piece of cantaloupe melon (bought and cut it into handy pieces for Jared).

His journey brings him into The Room. He sits down on the bed; allows himself to test the new frame, the old mattress covered with the new bedspread. It was seventy fucking dollars and Jensen wants to punch himself in the face because he already cut the tags off.

He lays down on his back and watches the shadows of the trees outside of the window painting wild images all over the ceiling. A few minutes pass like that until he remembers the package that came the other day and gets up to retrieve it from the small built-in closet.

It’s wrapped in bubble wrap, in a carton inside a carton. Children are printed on the packaging because this is a toy. For kids.

For fucking _kids_ , Jensen.

He places it where he originally planned it to go, plugs it to the nearby outlet and flicks the switch. The toy goes off immediately and brighter than he had thought it would be. It’s turning, slowly, and the music can be toggled on or off by default. He sticks with silence and lies back down.

Stars and suns and moons crawl across walls and ceiling. Jensen wonders if he had something like this when he was a baby, maybe. It’s fascinatingly calming. Beautiful, too, in the way a hatched duckling or a running horse or the laughter of a child is. Innocent.

Jared would love it. It’s why he bought it in the first place, of course. Jensen would never buy something useless like this for himself.

Despite his fear, Jensen doesn’t have any nightmares about sirens and four square four rooms.

When he will wake up, the toy will still be playing.

~

Jensen wants to kick himself into his goddamn face once he happens to notice the posters in the hallway on Friday.

_School dance TODAY! Music and friends! Bring your family!_

He sent Jared away two days before the fucking dance night. The night Jared will have to pose as a perfect little boy for his mom, maybe his entire family, the entire school.

He would have needed Jensen to talk him through it, cheer him up, and not to fucking pop a boner over Jared flashing his jailbait self all over his living room.

Fuck. And Jensen doesn’t even get a chance to see him until tonight. And even if Jensen _would_ be teaching Jared’s class today, he could in no possible way ask him out into the corridor, couldn’t whisper an apology, maybe squeeze in a hug for good measure, because fuck, Jensen, don’t be so goddamn stupid to shit where you fucking eat.

Carrie practically undresses him with her (today especially) dolled-up eyes and cheers, “Will we see you tonight at the dance, Jensen?” and he smiles through it, all polite, always polite, Jensen is a good man, yes he is.

“Sure,” he grits. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

There has to be a decent looking suit left in his closet _somewhere_.

~

The music is still the same compared to when Jensen used to have _his_ mom polish _his_ shoes to chaperone over his local school gym floor. If you keep waiting long enough, history repeats itself. Music. Fashion. These things return just when you thought you would be safe from them.

Jensen sips non-alcoholic punch and scans the hall for mischief makers. As long as Christensen and Werner are still visible, things should be safe. Dorothy unearths a flask out of the crease of her impressive cleavage and pours a good sip of it into her plastic cup. The teachers are standing a little off, away from the main action (“Let kids be kids!”), and it’s a little dark here, not easy to spot from farther away. She raises both her eyebrows and her flask when she notices Jensen watching her. When he declines, she shrugs and shares with Carrie. Jensen is the only male teacher “on duty” tonight and definitely has felt less ogled in other points of his career.

Neither Jared nor his two girlfriends seem to have arrived yet. Maybe they found a way to bail on this circus altogether; Jensen wouldn’t blame them. Maybe they’re nearby, on some pathetic playground, drinking moonshine and exchanging heartbreaks (y’know, teenagers). Maybe Jared told them about Jensen now. How mean and heartless and terrible Jensen is. Wouldn’t be a lie. Jensen would deserve it.

Maybe it’s better this way, Jensen thinks. So Jared doesn’t have to stuff himself into that hated suit. God. Jensen hadn’t even tried to take _some_ of the fear away.

A new wave of students floods inside. The wide open doors swing, bring some fresh night air inside – summer-y and thick and just right for someone who isn’t all suited up like Jensen. The good Armani suit together with the good Armani perfume. Jensen even trimmed his beard. Leyla is about to talk herself up into bumping into him every minute now, he can almost _feel_ it.

Floppy hair crests everyone else’s and Jensen’s heart skips because he barely ever has a chance to notice, barely is _aware_ of how different Jared is from everyone else his age.

He’s right there – uneasy, sure, but has a girl on each arm (a privilege other boys would _die for_ at that age), all three of them beaming with the type of joy you only have when you’re young, when you haven’t been harmed and trampled upon (yet). Someone made him cut his hair. Those bangs are not as long anymore, but the rest hasn’t been trimmed. Perfect to ruffle a hand through, and maybe one of his girls did that after Jared’s mother tried to part it in a neat center parting. Jensen’s heart skips anew because yeah, there she is, Mrs. Padalecki – complete with husband and little Megan and so so proud of her little man, unaware of Jensen being present, of Jensen’s entire existence, of his crimes.

Jared looks good. Handsome. The kind of boy people would deem a skirt chaser, a ladies’ man, while elbowing one another in amused adoration. Someone had the wit to give the kid a little black bow tie. All Jensen can think of is the sparkle in Jared’s eyes when Jensen made him unwrap the first piece of jewelry anyone has ever gotten him (and the first Jensen has bought ever since that ring): a simple gold chain with a tiny tag dangling from it. Some small independent craft store on Etsy had hand-stamped “kitten” on it for the more than fair price of ten dollars (including shipping). Jared had stuck his tongue so deep down Jensen’s throat that day that Jensen had been scared he would reach all the way down to his black, black heart.

Nobody sees Jensen, though. Jared laughs about something one of his friends just said, and then he turns away to head towards the “bar” to get some “punch” and maybe some crackers. Jared likes the ones shaped like fish. They have those tonight; maybe some are still left.

Dancing Queen begins to play, of course it does, and the blonde girl on Jared’s right can be heard cheering all the way up to where Jensen is cowering. The other girl doesn’t seem as impressed, but blondie pulls Jared into the busy center of the gym, right into the crowd. Jensen doesn’t lose them for a single second and chews on the rim of his plastic cup.

Uneasy at first, Jared eventually thaws the longer his friend eggs him on. Painful, then trying, then not giving a damn – just how it should be at that age. Just like his peers, Jared dances more to his mood than to the actual rhythm.

“They are having fun down there,” comments Leyla somewhere definitely too close, and Jensen just nods and doesn’t exactly listen to the rest of her sad cry for his attention.

Impossible to imagine how much more fun Jared would have if he was allowed to attend the dance in a dress.

Current songs are sewn in between the oldies. Jared switches between his girls or dances with both, at one point grabs his little sister and makes every grown woman in the room swoon as he waltzes and jumps with her. Good thing people are making room for them; Jensen would have no chance of telling Jared apart from the crowd when he’s bending down like that.

It takes one and a half hours of heartbreak, nostalgia and an irresponsible amount of Dorothy’s (very) personal booze stash out of Jensen until Jared finally, finally spots him. It’s a slow dance (of fucking course it is) and he’s plastered over his brunette friend, arms around her neck and all. He peeks up to Jensen through his own short and her pinned-up hair. Jensen imagines and dreams that Jared’s stomach turns just as much as his own. That he had been looking for Jensen all evening and only just now happened to get lucky. That Jared was and _is_ missing Jensen, too.

Those eyes seem a little bit wetter, maybe, and Jensen takes another sip from his cup without breaking eye contact. He raises his drink towards Jared afterwards, offers a smile the teenager maybe can see, maybe can’t.

I’m happy for you. You look good. Did you cry when they cut your hair?

It’s fucking sad. All of this. His entire fucking life. Moving here in hope of finding something better, something new, and running right into this poor kid, then exploiting him, then pushing him away.

Jensen thinks he can do better. Do a fucking better job – at everything. Being a teacher. Being a role model. Being someone Jared can rely on.

(Lean on. Fall asleep next to. Feel safe and cherished with.)

Jensen imagines Jared nodding. Smiling.

The next song is loud and fast, too fast, practically whips Jensen around, and the dancefloor suddenly is way too alive to tell anyone apart. Jared is gone, out of sight, just like that, and Jensen feels like someone ripped his guts out.

Alone. That’s what you are. You’re using him, because you are weak, and because you miss being loved.

Because he loves you more than you could comprehend, and it feels good to be wanted so, so _badly_.

Jensen has to excuse himself and escapes out of the back door. Frowning to himself and the moon, thinking of the toy on the nightstand in his former guestroom, of Jared, of Danni, the stupid little flings he had back home after the proposal went to shit, of the drinking and hangovers and bittersweet mornings. Jensen takes deep breaths. These are places he shouldn’t go. Especially not tonight. Especially not when he’s _working_. Teacher. You’re supposed to watch over the kids. You have responsibilities in there. Get over yourself.

Jensen’s phone buzzes. It takes him by enough surprise for him to actually pull it from his pocket, unlock the screen.

_Meet me in front of the boys’ changing rooms, 8:56. J_

One part of Jensen flashes angry-red, responsible and police blue.

That’s in five minutes, another part thinks.

They’re both there at fifty-five and Jared shed his jacket and is sweating, stupid girl-mouth gaping because yeah, Jensen knows what perfume does to Jared, and Jensen feels ten feet tall and wants to punch something, someone, and hisses, “Don’t fuckin’ _text_ me; or do you _want_ to get me locked up?!”

Jared has tear-wet eyes and whimpers, “I’m sorry,” and then Jensen grabs him by the mocking white of his button-down and kisses the breath out of the both of them.

It’s also Jensen who pushes Jared away afterwards, who clears his throat and trembles and mutters, “Uh, uhm, bad idea. Not here. Sorry. Fuck. Fuck.” He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, tries to calm his breath and heart and blood. His hand is still spanning over Jared’s too-flat chest. It’s hammering in there, too. Of course it is.

It takes all of Jensen’s willpower to withdraw said hand, and he keeps it cramped into a fist next to his hip.

He should be better than this. Who’s the grown-up here?

“Maybe later,” rushes Jared, voice lowered down and oh has it always been that raw, this shrill, this peaking into what once will be a low bass? “M-maybe, we can, to your place? If you don’t. I mean. If it’s okay. If.”

“Jared, your _parents_ are out there!” Jensen shouldn’t have to remind; it hurts himself most to say it out loud.

“I’ll tell them I’m staying with a friend!” God, Jared looks so desperate. Maybe that hurts even more than Jensen’s self-loathing. “I already asked and they said it’s okay, I have my phone with me so they can call, and, and; please? Please, Mr. Ackles!”

Jared doesn’t have to use his fingers to pull Jensen’s strings.

“Please.” He’s whispering, praying. “I’ll be good. Please. I miss you and I’m sorry. I wanna be better. Please just tell me how to be better.”

Oh god. “Jared-“

“I can BE better!” The teenager in front of Jensen honest to god stomps his leg down – and here Jensen was, thinking Jared couldn’t possible surprise him any more than he already has. “Just give me a CHANCE!”

“Okay,” croaks Jensen.

Jared’s eyes go wide from one second to the next. The agreement, obviously, wasn’t expected to come this easily.

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.” Jensen nods now. They shouldn’t be standing here any longer, he thinks, and wipes his mouth with his hand, gives a frantic glance around to check if anybody is watching them. There is nobody though. Everyone is safe and sound in the main hall where _everyone_ should be, including Jared and him.

“Really?”

“Yes,” promises Jensen. “We gotta go back now though, alright? Just. Just head back to your friends. Dance some more. C’mon.” A hand pushes Jared towards the door. They should leave a few minutes apart. Or maybe Jensen should circle the hall from the other exit so that they don’t emerge from the same deserted hallway. Yeah. Probably better. “Go!”

“When will you be home?” Jared whispers.

“Ten, maybe,” Jensen rumbles, frowning because why the fuck would they need to whisper, is mentally out of the other door already.

“Okay.” Faintest smile, quickly expanding. “I’ll try to be on time.”

“And delete the text you sent to my number!” calls Jensen – stupid, oh god, STUPID; claps a hand in front of his mouth, but Jared is running and laughing already, shouting back just as loud, “Already did; I’m not DUMB!”

Jensen groans and slips out of the side door.

~

He is home at nine fifty-five (again fifty-five, why, what the hell), on his toes and scraping together what he has planned out all the while he was forced to stay in that damn gym and during the car ride. He drops half of everything, twice, and curses so much he can practically see Jared’s admonishing scowl, and fuck, his proposal was _way_ less stressful. But then again, that didn’t work out. Maybe he’ll have more luck this time.

It’s ten twenty-two and Jared still hasn’t appeared. Jensen starts trying to remember if he ever had a panic attack before and if that’s how parents feel all the freaking time. His imagination delivers ugly pictures of car crashes, of slit throats, kidnapping. Cold sweat. Jensen didn’t drink enough for this kind of shit.

The knocking is timid and comes four minutes later, and Jensen must look really scary because when he rips the door open, Jared’s eyes go from flirting-soft to violently bulging within a second. He pulls the kid inside, locks the door, turns around to bark, “Where WERE you?!” and gathers an already stammering Jared into his arms before anything has the chance to reach his ears.

Jared holds him right back. Jensen buries his face in the nape of Jared’s neck. Smells like other people’s perfume, Jared’s sweat, boy body wash.

“I was worried _sick_ ,” he groans. He is fucking _shaking_.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ackles. I promised Hayley I would walk her home. She didn’t want to wake her mom to go get her.”

Jensen growls, “You could have _called_ ,” and peels them apart just far enough to kiss Jared’s already waiting mouth.

The kid has his eyes closed now, is all serene. Smiles all sweetly, all handsome and chimes, “You said not to text you,” in between kisses.

“This was different,” decides Jensen.

More kisses. “Sorry, sir.”

Jensen remembers who and where he is a few minutes into smooching both of their brains out, and he gently grabs Jared by his shoulders to get a tiny but needed distance between them. “I’m.” He coughs. Feels dizzy. Very sober again due to the fear of a dead kid on the curb in front of his house, but there are different kinds of dizzy and Jared by himself is one of them. “I have, uhm. I’ve got a few things, in case you feel like putting them on.”

“Right now?” breathes Jared.

“Right now,” nods Jensen. He manages a smile but actually feels like throwing up. It’s a big step, and the last time he made a big step, he got a strange, pitiful look and has yet to pick up all the pieces it left him in. But, maybe... “And something else. Later.”

Jared is about one more sweet promise away from jumping in place. His entire body language screams, “Thank you,” before his mouth whispers it together with a, “I’d love to.”

There is no noise upstairs where Jensen decided to lay everything out on his bed. Could be a good or bad clue. Jensen really _really_ plays with the thought of chugging a quick mouthful from the brandy his friends left him with, just to work off that damn itch. Jared deserves his full attention though and Jensen is a responsible adult, so no, stand your ground, grow some balls, you can do this. Jensen pins his boutonnière to his jacket’s front pocket and stalks to the foot of the stairs. Glances down to his watch. Glances up. No movement. No sound.

“Jared?”

Nothing.

Then, faintly, “In a second.”

“Okay,” Jensen hums, all to himself, but he needs the moral support of a voice even though it happens to be his own right now.

He straightens himself when he hears the door opening upstairs. Would be a lie to say his stomach wasn’t making somersaults at the sound of heels on hardwood floor; careful steps, click-clack, click-clack, and thank god there is a railing for Jensen to hold on to.

When he turns to peek up the stairs, Jared is there. Simply there. Taking up so much space and so little at the same time, light from the bathroom creating a dim halo around his entire silhouette.

Jensen imagines seeing blacker lashes and lined eyes, and he clearly sees them wet, a trembling chin, wobbly knees.

“Thank you so much,” whimpers Jared.

“It’s nothing,” smiles Jensen. God, nobody’s daughter could be this pretty, no father this proud. He reaches out, palm up. “C’mon, come down, baby. Let me see you.”

Jared sniffs all boyish but moves entirely graceful despite the heels. His hand is all princess how he lets it slide along the railing, flowers strapped tight there, spreading their scent. All those layers of tulle in the skirt make Jared’s shoulders appear narrow in comparison, and maybe the neckline is cut a little too low, but then again Jared has nothing to have falling out there anyway. Jensen didn’t add a bra to the pile on his bed. The straps would ruin the overall picture.

“You’re beautiful,” Jensen says, and he means it from the bottom of his heart, no matter what Jared thinks of him or what Jared and him are (what Jensen is, Jared or not). Jensen is all Jared’s when that hand lays itself into his own.

“Thank you,” whisper-smiles Jared. He used everything – eye shadow, liner, mascara. Even the lip gloss. Jensen is glad for making the extra run to the mall today after work.

“I made us some punch, if you want.” The damn scent of make-up has Jensen right down on Memory Lane, no returns. His eyes tear up a little. “I swear mine is better than what they had back at school, though. Promise.”

Jared chuckles and says he’d love to.

Jared likes peach and grape and it’s actually a nice combination. Jensen lets him babble about tonight, what he’s done, what happened, only to have an excuse to stand and take in the sight. Jared is a completely different person. Like he stripped his old self in Jensen’s bedroom and left it there together with his formerly so hated tuxedo.

“So it wasn’t too bad?” Jensen sums up.

“No.” Jared shakes his head. Still smiling. Hopefully never stops, ever again. “It was cool, actually. Somehow.” Laughs, tosses his hair. “Nah, it was, it was okay, I guess.”

Ah, teenagers. “When do you have to be at home? Should I drive you?”

Jared lowers his head to peek into his drink, swings his legs where he is seated on the kitchen counter (classy) and where Jensen is leaning against (cheesy).

“I said I’d spend the night,” Jared murmurs, quietly and carefully, ready to pass it as a hearing misconception on Jensen’s behalf. “If, uh,” quick backpedal, “if that’s okay with you, I mean. It’s, I just.”

“It’s okay.” Jensen thumbs at Jared’s wrist, at the corsage. Dying little things, the exact same as he has pinned over his heart. “It’s prom night, after all. Nobody should be heading into bed before midnight on prom night. Brings bad luck.” Jensen winks all cheaply.

Jared, even though it shouldn’t be possible, manages to smile even brighter than before.

They go through the punch while Jensen finally talks about his weekend and his friends; who is who and how he met them. He spills some information about his hometown, too, about his parents and siblings, little details he doesn’t think he had mentioned to Jared before. Jared listens closely and holds his glass out for a refill whenever he has finished his current one. Jensen is happy to serve.

Jared declares he’d like to dance if Jensen wants, too, and Jensen picks the cheesiest songs he can find just to tickle another laugh from his prom date.

Jared is almost taller than Jensen on his heels but that makes it so much more comfortable for him to put his head on Jensen’s shoulder, arms flung around Jensen’s neck. They’re moving slowly in time with the music; something slow and lovely, and when Jensen feels like putting his head on Jared’s shoulder, too, he simply does, and it fits.

Fits so well.

Jared’s growing, bony shoulder. Boyish bulge of muscle he probably desperately wants to suppress but which makes him even more magical, special, wonderful.

Jensen thinks that if Jared should outgrow him eventually, that wouldn’t be too bad. Jensen could bury himself here all day every day then. Could be the little spoon. Could lean against Jared, too.

Jared’s eyes are alit when he shares with Jensen that he had a long, long talk with his mom. About the girl clothes. About (maybe, probably... okay, _totally_ ) being gay. And that, Mr. Ackles, she said – it’s okay, sweetheart. I love you. I’m glad you told me. That she’s proud of him. _Proud_.

Jared hasn’t made his mind up whether he wants her to tell the rest of the family yet, and Jensen advises him to take his time. Things like that don’t need to be rushed. Whenever Jared’s ready.

Jensen is so fucking proud of his little girl.

When all songs are danced to, they sit down on the sofa and Jensen beds in Jared’s million fold lap. Fingers rake through his hair. No secretly scored joint behind any high school bleacher could make him feel this peaceful.

“Do you wanna go to sleep, Mr. Ackles?”

“Mmmh,” grunts Jensen. Jared’s chuckle makes him smile, too. He cracks one eye open and peers up. “Yeah. Maybe. You tired yet?”

“I could use a bed, yeah,” smiles Jared.

“Okay. Bed time.” Jensen forces himself up and groans at the crack of his knees, gives Jared a warning glare and then an outstretched hand at cheeky laughter first and tumbling movements (platform heels, duh) later. He lets Jared use the bathroom first before heading in himself, pulls on the worn out shirt (but not the _most_ worn out of the batch) he uses as a pajama, contemplates sweatpants but it’s just too hot. Jared won’t feel assaulted by a pair of boxer shorts.

Jared is standing in the middle of the unlit bedroom when Jensen walks in, and it’s not even a full moon out there but just bright enough for Jensen to realize Jared is naked.

Is facing him, in his bedroom, wearing nothing but his face full of make-up, his tiny frilly panties and his little corsage.

Jensen still has the doorknob in his hand. He could step back, close the door. Could step inside, close the door. He does neither and asks, “Jared?” like there is any other answer than the one he knows is true and present and real.

“I really really love you, Mr. Ackles,” says a very small voice. Jensen still hasn’t moved, and neither has Jared. “I want to make you happy. In every way.”

If Jensen was a braver man, he would now ask Jared to stop, shut his mouth. Jensen isn’t very brave, though. Not brave enough.

Jared, despite the darkness, is determined in keeping up the eye contact. It’s like a goddamn spell he is casting. Whatever it is, Jensen prays it won’t work on him.

“I know I don’t have tits, or… or a….... pussy. _But_. But you can do whatever you-“

“Jared.”

“-whatever you want, so, if you want to, w-we can, I, I-“

“Jared,” Jensen soothes. “ _Stop_.”

Jared is trembling now, stronger than when Jensen had walked in, too-big hands clenching into fists now, flat-flat belly sucking itself in with a desperate heave for air.

“I, I can learn, and, and I think I can be pretty good, probably, maybe? _Please_?”

Jensen is moving now, and Jared, poor Jared thinking he will either get eaten alive or – worse – cast out, pulls his shoulders up to his ears in defense, squeezes his eyes shut and keeps stammering.

He doesn’t stop until Jensen squeezes him in his arms. He pets his hair while he gently rocks and shushes Jared like he was not much older than Suzie and Hank’s baby boy.

Then, Jared sobs. Not very pretty, not pretty at all, actually, and he claws his fingers into Jensen’s back and cries all of his make-up into Jensen’s t-shirt. And even though it’s not pretty, it’s all Jared, and Jensen can’t find a damn thing he dislikes about it.

Ten minutes of solid sobbing later, Jensen manages to talk Jared into washing his face and putting on one of those sleeveless muscle shirts Jensen sometimes wears during runs in the summer. He lets Jared crawl into bed with him then, hugs the still sniffing and now absolutely exhausted kid into his arms as soon as he can reach him. Jensen presses endless kisses into Jared’s hair and it doesn’t feel wrong, doesn’t feel bad. Jared needs him like this, and Jensen wants to be there for him like this.

Jared ends up croaking that he is afraid Jensen is missing out. That Jensen deserves a _real_ girlfriend and that Jared feels like a burden, that he’s sorry that he can’t stop wanting to be with Jensen even though he knows that Jensen doesn’t like boys. That he knows he’s too young, that it’s just another turn-off for Jensen, but maybe if Jensen imagined Jared was one of those very young-looking, slim girls they show in all those teen porn clips? Maybe that would work? He hopes that would work.

“Hey, hey.” Jensen brushes hair out of eyes that are dripping yet again, all red and sore as they are already. “Don’t you waste a single second worrying about _me_ , alright? I say when I want something, and I say when I don’t want something. What I want is for you to feel good when you’re with me. You, crying? Not good.”

Jared laughs, a little hysterical, a lot lovingly.

“I’m very happy,” Jensen whispers, “to spend time with you. When you’re happy, I’m happy. When I tell you ‘no’, it’s because I want to protect you. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’d _never_ ,” insists Jared.

“Baby, all this stuff is very complicated.” Endless hair to brush through. Jensen has time. “You’re so young. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s easy to think you can do something when you don’t know much of anything yet. You could end up confused. Or regretting things. Get hurt.” Jensen’s thumb rubs away one of way too many tears. “Rushing is never good. Remember that. All at its time.”

“I really like doing stuff with you though,” mutters Jared.

“Me too,” breathes Jensen. He has his eyes closed now.

“I think about it. When I touch myself,” Jared whispers. “Imagine my hands are yours. Or that you’re kissing me. Everywhere.”

“That’s nothing bad,” decides Jensen. Kind of trembling. Kind of spun around Jared’s pinkie that’s drifting across his lips. “It’s healthy, Jared. That’s healthy.”

“I wanna do more stuff, sometimes. With you.” Thumb nail on Jensen’s bottom lip. Pressing in. “When I know I’m ready.”

“All at its time.” Whisper, barely audible.

“At its time,” mirrors Jared.

They fall asleep, curled around each other.

~

Jensen dreams. He dreams of Danneel.

She was Jensen’s great love. Life-changing. Brain-blasting. She could do pretty much everything she’d put her mind to. Clever, funny, stunningly beautiful. She worked hard. She was ambitious.

In Jensen’s dream, she tells him she wants to be with him again, and he agrees right on the spot. She’s suddenly pregnant but that’s okay, and they have a dog who sheds all over the backseat of their newly leased van and that’s okay, too. Jensen fucking loves everything. The world is great.

It smells like flowers all of a sudden and the scenery changes into a flower field. Danneel and him and the baby are rolling through the flowers, laughing, and suddenly the baby is gone and it’s only Danni and him, making out, her hand sneaking into his jeans and her tits suddenly bare and pressing against Jensen’s just as naked chest, so fucking soft and beautiful. His fingers tangle in her hair when she bows down to suck him into her perfect mouth and

that’s when Jensen’s body decides to wake up.

Jensen eyes flash wide in the morning light of an early Saturday. The scent of flowers is still present, just like in his dream. Jensen turns his head and, naturally, it’s Jared’s still flowered wrist that’s radiating the heavy scent.

Jared lost his shirt somewhere during the night and has one arm and one leg plastered across Jensen. Little monkey. So thin.

_slim girls they show in all those teen porn clips_

Jensen blinks and runs his hands across his face, groans. Jared’s knee is an inch away from touching Jensen’s morning wood, and Jared awakens with the soft push of a hand on said knee, guiding it down and away.

Jared giggles about morning stubble kisses and doesn’t complain about morning breath.

The eggs are barely sizzling in the frying pan when Jared, already sipping his coffee, timidly asks, “What was the other thing you wanted to show me?”

Jensen eyes him over his shoulder. The kid’s got some nerves, that much Jensen starts to grasp. Greedy, he thinks, but growls, “Later,” instead. “Eat your breakfast.”

Carefree, “Okay.”

God. Jensen almost forgot about The Room.

On three coffees and with Jared fully clothed, Jensen has built up enough nerves to reveal his secret project. “It’s not _completely_ done,” he reminds with Jared following right at the sole of his feet, “but it’s getting there. Gimme another, uh, few weeks. Details. And stuff.” And stuff. Great, Jensen. You’re a true poet.

The entire idea feels reckless when they’re in front of The Door. Jensen stares at the doorknob and anxiety creeps up the back of his neck. Cold-hot flash of making a mistake, being laughed at. Too soon and too much, what the fuck, you’re _crazy_ , Mr. Ackles.

What a surprise to have his hand taken into Jared’s just as large, way, way warmer one. Jensen looks up and meets a curious but worried expression.

“Mr. Ackles,” balms Jared, “you don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I don’t mind. I can wait.”

Jensen stares at the kid for a moment before frowning, hard, then laughing, harder. He squeezes Jared’s hand though, wipes his hand across his face. God, he is sweating. “Don’t fucking quote me to me.”

“Don’t swear,” chastises Jared, surprisingly firm, just like the hold of his hand.

Jensen pouts but agrees, “Sorry,” and dwells in the instant forgiveness Jared radiates. So easy. It can be so easy, Jensen.

He loves you. He really, truly does.

“I’m ready, though,” Jensen says. Tugs on Jared’s hand. “I wanna do this. You’re with me?”

“Of course,” smiles Jared.

Jensen returns that and proceeds to fumble with key and lock.

Jared, of course, peeks over his shoulder. “Why’d you lock it?”

“’Cause you’re a fucking _curious_ little cat,” mutters Jensen, and just when Jared inhales with intent to give another lesson on swearing, the door opens.

Jensen turns around to watch the jaw of Jared’s open mouth drop even lower.

“Not done though, remember?” Jensen rushes, but Jared is already past him and a few steps into the room. Both hands come up to cover his mouth while he stares, takes in the interior.

Jensen had thought about this moment. Had painted it in his mind while he chose every single item. What Jared would think of it. If he’d like it. How it’d be like to show him all of it. Now, Jensen actually feels a little displaced. Maybe he should have waited until it was perfect. He still needs that one certain rug, that one certain lamp.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Jensen tries to think of something to say since Jared seemed to have turned into a fish or something similarly mute. “It’s for you,” he ends up with, feels ridiculous right after it left his mouth. But Jared turns around for it, eyes wide and hands still covering half his face. Jensen’s shoulders tense.

“I thought,” he murmurs out loud, “that you’d like it. ‘Cause you said… your sister had such a nice room, and…”

“Thank you.”

Just like that, Jensen’s shoulders sink an inch or two.

“Oh my god. Thank you. So. Much.” Jared’s eyes fill yet again, the poor things. This time though, Jensen can actually smile about it, because it’s not sad. No, absolutely not. “Oh my god, Mr. Ackles. Oh my _god_!”

“Isn’t that blasphemy?” Jensen smirks before he gets tackled down by a squealing hundred twenty pounds of teenage skin and bones.

Soft pink paint is easy and cheap; no problem. The bed, after a delivery delay, was rather easy to put together. The fairy lights were a bitch to thread through the art deco coiled headboard. Will be worth it though once it’s dark outside; maybe just as pretty as the mobile light toy Jensen got – both together are perfection. Like the vanity, just kitschy enough for his girl. And Jared hasn’t even peeked into the closet yet.

There’s only so much room a bachelor can take up all on his own. What does he need?

A place to keep his heart safe in; naturally.

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel soft and needy, lend an ear and a good time to [this lovely **playlist**](http://8tracks.com/silver9mm/home-full-of-sugar#) the completely irresistable [silver9mm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm) put together for Mr. Ackles' and kitten's private living room prom


End file.
